Ballroom Dancing Made a Man Out of Me
by ArrangedloveMatch
Summary: Cardverse AU. Queen Arthur intends to teach his young, unrefined King some manners, starting with the greatest form of royal expression: dance. usuk secret santa gift for teaismylife on LJ.


"This cannot go on, Your Majesty."

The King of Spades looked up at the Queen, brow puckered in confusion. "Huh?"

The King and Queen stood in the banquet hall, alone save for a few servants tidying up after last night's festivities. The guests of honor had left only that morning, and the instant they were out of the castle, Queen Arthur Kirkland went to find the king and give him a piece of his mind.

Arthur scowled at his young king, quite beside himself. "We cannot have another incident like last night, or we shall have an declaration of war on our hands!"

Alfred, the young King in question, looked genuinely confused. "What? I though it went pretty well. I had a good time."

"It most certainly did _not_ go well!" Arthur threw his hands up in exasperation. "The first official state visit from the Kingdom of Diamonds and you make the worst impression imaginable!"

Alfred laughed, which only made Arthur angrier. "Oh, Arthur, it wasn't that bad! King Francis was very nice, and his queen was pretty, and the food was good, and there was dancing and music. How could that be a bad impression?"

Arthur groaned. "Your Majesty," he said, praying for patience, "the King of Diamonds is…very tolerant, to say the least. He is a King of the utmost class and breeding, and I imagine that his court reflects this. You, on the other hand," Arthur's voice grew snappy, "acted not like a King, but exactly like the country folk that you come from!"

Alfred blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Your manners are horrid, is what I mean!" Arthur tried to get the young man to understand the gravity of the situation. "You are early in your reign, and you need to be taken seriously as a King. Eating with the wrong sort of fork—which you did—and chewing with your mouth open—which you also did—and telling crude jokes—which—"

"Which I also did, yeah, yeah." Alfred shrugged and grinned. "They were funny jokes. I _saw_ you trying not to laugh."

Arthur's cheeks flooded with color. "Th-that isn't the point! Such actions will make Spades the laughingstock of the Four Nations, and it's King—_and_ Queen, might I add—along with it!"

Alfred sighed, but the careless smile never left his eyes. "All right, fine. I'll eat with the 8 thousand hundred forks at dinners even if one is just fine, and I'll let you do all the smart chit-chat from now on. Deal?"

"_Alfred_," Arthur hissed, "you're missing the point! Those actions made you look foolish, yes, and _trust_ me, I _already_ seem to take the brunt of intelligent conversation around here, but that is insignificant next to _what you did to the Queen of Diamonds_!"

Alfred looked confused again. "Hey, what did I do? I though she was nice. I was nice to her!"

"You refused to dance with her!" Arthur's voice shot up two octaves. "The king of the Host country _must_ ask the visiting queen to the a dance, and when you did not, the poor creature had to ask _you_. And then you _refused._" Arthur took a breath and crossed his arms. "I don't know what you get up to in those country towns you hail from, but in the royal circles, one must _never_ refuse a dance. It is the highest of insults to do so!"

"Oh. Really? That seems…silly. It's just a dance." Alfred shrugged and pulled at his coat sleeves. "I just didn't feel like dancing, that's all."

"It's symbolic, Alfred. Regardless of whether you want to dance or not, it's something you must always do, as long as you are able." Arthur took another deep breath. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to be so sharp with you. I only want to make sure that you know that this must never happen again. Your ignorance may be forgiven once, but certainly not twice."

In response, Alfred made a grimace. "Yes, but…do I really—look, why can't you dance with her?"

"_I_ have to dance with the visiting king. It's tradition." Arthur raised a brow. "Surely it's not such a terrible notion."

"Well no, but…"

Arthur looked at the way Alfred fidgeted, and blinked. "Do you know how to dance?" he asked abruptly, and Alfred's ears turned pink.

"Of course! I'm a great dancer!" Alfred looked incredibly defensive. But the next moment he deflated a little bit. "I mean …I just haven't had much practice with the fancy styles of the city…waltzes and things like that."

"Oh. I…see." Arthur frowned. "Very well." He straightened up. "In that case, I will teach you,"

Alfred's head snapped up, a very eager smile on his face. "You _will_?" He coughed and hid that eagerness under at once. "Well, I'm already a great king, so I don't really _need_ to learn, but…it would be useful. But, well, you will?"

"Of course. It's my duty as Queen to keep the King in working order, isn't it?" Alfred smiled at him so brightly that Arthur blushed and sputtered. "Only for the good of the kingdom, mind you."

He turned and walked briskly to the door, calling over his shoulder, "Meet me in the ballroom tonight."

The call of "Arthur!" made him pause at the door. He glanced back. Alfred was still smiling at him. "Thank you."

Arthur bobbed his head in a quick bow and left, remaining as composed as possible even while his cheeks burned.

* * *

><p>Arthur stood in the empty ballroom regretting his offer with all of his might. It was foolish. It was ill advised. It was…<em>impulsive<em>. And he honestly had no idea what had possessed him. Perhaps a mischievous Joker had slipped though the castle and stolen his sense away.

Alfred had plenty of tutors and servants at his disposal that could teach him something as simple as a dance. Even the King's Jack, a very busy man, could have been persuaded, and he was probably a much better dancer than Arthur was. He'd usually avoided balls and dances in his youth, opting to stay home with his mother's library all to himself. Why would he offer to teach Alfred something he himself didn't enjoy, something that could be taught so well by others? Why go out of his way?

Damn it all, he _knew_ why, and the thought made Arthur burn hot with shame. He was utterly besotted with his king and denying that was getting very difficult indeed.

But how could he be expected not to? Alfred was—oh, let's get on with it—young and handsome; tall and strong, with golden hair that fell into his eyes, summer blue eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm behind his spectacles. And his _smile_. Oh gods, that bright, beautiful smile that lit up a room, that should have made Arthur irritated but made his heart glow instead. It really was not fair. King Alfred of the Kingdom of Spades was beautiful, and his drab little Queen with his giant eyebrows took notice. He was practical, not _blind_.

Also…well, Arthur _liked_ him, for himself. The first time that they met as also the day of their coronations. After the old King had died, and his court disposed, Arthur had been chosen by the council of Jacks, plucked from his home in the city, and brought to the palace; Alfred had arrived a few days later, having been chosen from the poor shepherds who lived in the countryside. At first Arthur was astounded that such a low bred boy—and one so young (only four years younger than Arthur, but four years is enough when you are young)—would be chosen by the wise Jacks to become king; Arthur himself came from an important noble family. In fact, he was certain that there was a mistake. Arthur had not been very eager to become Queen: he was a fiercely independent person who disliked being subservient to anyone, which by definition, the Queen was doomed to be (granted, the Queen was second only to the King, but that second-ness was the _point_). Arthur was not certain that being King and ruling the kingdom was a much better fate, but he envied it over his own, and was filled with bitterness when he heard of the new king. Why was this peasant deserving of becoming king? Why was Arthur not good enough?

Of course, then he'd met Alfred. Their first conversation was short, stolen behind the scenes just before their coronation. Alfred had been filled with jittery excitement, and kept saying things like "I'm so glad you're here!" and "I'll have such a good queen!" and "You and I will make this Kingdom so much better, and be heroes for our people. You'll see!" Arthur couldn't imagine feeling bitter towards such a person.

He'd had his doubts, of course. Alfred was very young, and naïve about certain things, and had a tendency to be over confident and proud (although pride was, admittedly, a vice that Arthur also knew well). But he cared very deeply for his kingdom, and was very smart despite all evidence to the contrary. He tried his very best to be a good king and was so far succeeding (current issue not withstanding). And as for Arthur and his fears…well, they were unfounded. Alfred truly valued him as an adviser and a partner, and their relationship was one of partnership, and, after all these months, even friendship.

Kings and Queen in the Four Nations need not be married, and often aren't. The point was that Arthur had found an ally and a friend in his king, and was trying very, very hard to tell himself that he did not want more.

Arthur was jolted from his thoughts by Alfred's (very loud) voice: "Fancy meeting you here!"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Did you expect someone else?"

"I wasn't sure that you would show up, to tell you the truth."

"I assure you, I am a man of my word." Arthur rolled up the cuffs of his shirt. "Now then. Take off your coat."

Alfred gasped and held a hand to his chest. "Oh, _Arthur_!" he cried, laughter in his voice. "This is so sudden!"

Arthur felt himself blush _again_. Damn it. "That's not what I mean and you know that, you fool. Now do you want to learn or not?"

"Yes, yes, calm down." Alfred chuckled and draped his coat over the grand piano. He held out his arms. "So, esteemed tutor, here is your pupil."

"Good." Arthur stepped forward. "Now, we will begin with a typical array of dances that one might find at a ball. We will begin with the waltz and move on from there."

Alfred gave a quick salute. "Yes, sir!"

Arthur smiled and held out his hand. Alfred took it and squeezed, and Arthur ignored that fact that the room suddenly felt a hundred degrees warmer.

"I-I'll lead first," Arthur said, his voice slightly shaky. He coughed and steeled himself. "Right. Well, I was taught only the male part, so you will take the part of the female," he held up his hand at Alfred's small whine, "_only_ so that you may see what the male form should look like." He smirked. "Also, considering the fact that you are new to this, it's best that I lead, lest you stomp on my toes."

Alfred made a small pout. "Hmph. Fine."

Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's waist, cheeks burning but composed. "Hand on my upper arm."

"What about holding up my shirt?"

"You won't be wearing a skirt, idiot. Now, raise your chin—not that far, I can see up your nose. Better. Now follow my lead. One, two, three…"

Arthur lead them round and round the ballroom, his rusty movements becoming more fluid as he grew more comfortable. Alfred was a fast learner and soon it was his turn to try to lead; Arthur felt his heart beat foolishly fast when Alfred's hand curled at his waist. Alfred stepped on Arthur's toes more than once, and some curses were thrown back and forth, but by the end of the night Alfred had certainly improved.

Arthur was back in his chambers, and his servants preparing him for bed, before he realized that yes, he _had_ offered to give Alfred another lesson, and he had accepted.

By the fourth lesson, Alfred was as good a dancer as Arthur, if only a _little_ clumsy at times. He'd even improvised mid step and lifted Arthur off of his feet, spinning him around, laughing; Arthur had laughed too, and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the strength of Alfred's hands around his waist.

"Congratulations, Alfred," Arthur said with a flourish of his hand. "I can teach you no more."

"Really?" Alfred's ever-present grin grew. "I've graduated from Kirkland's Academy of Dance?"

"With honors, I imagine."

The Royals shrugged on their coats, and Arthur prepared to say goodnight, but Alfred spoke first. "Thank you, Arthur," he said. "Really. It was very kind of you to help me, even if you don't think I'm a good king," a wink, "even though I am."

Arthur smiled at him. "I think you're a good king," he said. "I just want to make sure that everyone else can see that, too."

Alfred looked so sincerely touched that Arthur (unsurprisingly) flushed and almost ducked his head like some sort of lovesick milk maid. But he resisted the urge and busided himself with straightening his coat.

Then Alfred spoke again. "Is that true?" he asked, and his voice was quiet, and anxious. His ears turned pink and he ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling. "I mean…well, that means a lot, coming from you. I just…try really hard to be the best king that I can be, and I know that I'm a good king, but…this is so different from anything I'd ever imagined myself doing. I wanted to be a knight or a hero, but thought I'd end up a shepherd like my father." He sighed. "A king needs to walk into a room like he owns it, and I'm not used to owning much at all. You're good at that, though." His grin came back. "You're very good at owning a room."

Arthur snorted. "I daresay you're not lacking in confidence, yourself."

"Not like you." Alfred's grin was a little sheepish now. "You hold yourself with pride…_entitlement_. You're noble born and you know it. It's inherent nobility." He shrugged, smile strained. "It's becoming of a Royal, but I just don't have it."

Well. Arthur was surprised, certainly, to hear anything but boisterous confidence from Alfred. But he considered the boy all the same—took note of the way he ran his hand through his golden hair, tugged at the sleeves of his coat, fidgeted like the teenager he was—and felt a surge of sympathy.

"Well," he said at last, "it's true that your lack of breeding is…_woefully_ obvious." Alfred made a face at him. "And I admit that I have had my doubts concerning you. But you hold yourself proudly, Alfred. Not with entitlement, but with confidence, self-assurance that needs no pedigree to prove." Arthur glanced at his hands. "_That_ is the kind of pride that should be envied, not mine."

He glanced up, and Alfred was staring at him, looking so surprised that Arthur blushed scarlet and lowered his eyes again. "That—I—what I mean to say is that…is that you are young, and inexperienced, and unrefined, but you are strong of heart, and are not lacking in determination. You were thrust into this world of grand titles and fine manners, and shouldered with so much responsibility, but you seldom doubt yourself. You have courage." He looked up again. "I believe that is what makes a king, regardless of how well you can dance."

Alfred stared at him for a moment, then smiled so widely that his face seemed aglow; Arthur felt his stomach flip flop at the sight. "Do you really think so?" Alfred asked eagerly. "I mean…I know that I'm a good king—I mean I hope I am—I mean I _am_! But, but do you really think so, too?"

Arthur felt himself smiling. "Yes." Alfred's answering smile was, if possible, even brighter than his last, and Arthur, blood rushing to his cheeks at an alarming rate, cleared his throat loudly. "Not that you aren't an unrefined bumpkin, mind you. You merely possess admirable traits."

"I know, I know," Alfred laughed and waved the statement away; Arthur could admit that it was a rather royal looking gesture. "Thanks." His grin softened a bit and he held out his hand. "Should we continue practicing? I'd hate to rob you of your bumpkin-curing time."

Arthur recognized the teasing tone and smirked, taking the king's hand. "You're beyond all hope, I'm afraid. But because you seem so eager, I shall humor you."

"Good," Alfred said, pulling them onto the ballroom floor. "So who leads this time?"

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

It was intended as a challenge and Alfred took it as such, and soon the two of them were spinning and spinning in a game of tug-of-war, quite off beat, and when Alfred burst out laughing Arthur could not help but join him. The laughter echoed off of the walls. They were still laughing when they finally stopped their dance, a little out of breath.

"Well, am I cured?" Alfred asked, and Arthur made a show of pretending to consider the question, stroking his chin and looking the young king up and down.

Alfred's face was flushed, still smiling that wide smile, eyes shining as blue as the summer sky, his hair falling into his face, and Arthur suddenly found himself quite struck with how handsome his king was. When he spoke, the joke had gone out of his voice, and he spoke without thinking, the words laced with that warmth he felt in his heart, that he forgot to hide: "Yes, I daresay you are."

And just like that, Alfred's smile vanished, replaced with an expression that was not unpleasant, but certainly strange, as he stared at Arthur as if he had never beheld such a creature before, as if, perhaps (if Arthur dared to think) he felt the same warmth that Arthur did.

And so Arthur, in a rare burst of both courage and impulsiveness, took Alfred's hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Good night, Your Majesty," he murmured, and abruptly turned away before he could see Alfred's expression, walking briskly to the door.

The second he turned the corner into the hall he broke into a run, dashing like the devil were at his heels, all the way back to his chambers, bursting through the doors and terrifying his servants. Taking no notice of their cries ("Your Majesty, what's happened?" "Is he all right?") he leaned his head against the door, gasping for air, and buried his burning face in his hands.

_I'm such a fool_, he thought, mortified at his own actions, but smiled a secret smile all the same.

That smile vanished a moment later when there came a sharp, insistent rapping on the doors. Arthur felt a surge of pure panic (oh no don't be him don't be him don't be) and that panic caused him to yank open the doors without waiting for his servants to do so, without thinking at all, and…well.

Alfred's face was ruddy and his breathing heavy, as if he'd been running, too (b-but that was ridiculous why would he?), and he was looking at Arthur rather desperately, which did no wonders for Arthur's ability to be coherent. He managed a croaking, "Alfred—what—"

Alfred made a small sound of frustration. He grasped Arthur's lapel, pulled him forward, and kissed him. It lasted just long enough for the shock to wear off and for Arthur to respond, closing his eyes and leaning in, feeling a skittering warmth spill over from his heart and into his blood and warm him like brandy, before Alfred pulled away, looking rather shocked at his own daring.

"Goodnight," he said, and fled as quickly as he'd come. Arthur, in a daze, touched his tingling lips; before he closed the door, he though he heard, from a distance, an elated shout of victory, and he felt himself smile.

* * *

><p>By the time that the King and Queen of Diamonds visited again, winter had come to the land of Spades, and a soft blanket of snow covered the land. Within the palace, it was warm and merry, the royal Spade blues and violets mingling with the bright yellows and golds of the Diamond court. Most of the activity currently centered in the grand ballroom, where only months earlier Arthur had taught a king to dance: here, the room was filled with laughter and music, and pairs of dancers glided elegantly across the floor.<p>

The dance ended and the musicians prepared another; during this pause in music, the Queen of Spades stumbled off of the dance floor, looking thoroughly insulted. He stalked back to the thrones overlooking the festivities, collapsing into his seat with a grumble. He watched Alfred kiss the hand of his dance partner, the Diamond Queen (who blushed prettily, bless her heart) before excusing himself from the floor and sitting beside his queen.

He grinned. "You look a little upset."

"He _groped_ my _arse_," Arthur hissed between clenched teeth. Alfred let out a squawk of laughter that he quickly tried to smother with his hand. "Damn you, Alfred, it is _not_ funny." Arthur glared and reached over to slap the king's arm, lightly. "If you think it's funny, you can go dance with him. I refuse to do it again!"

Alfred caught Arthur's hand and kissed his palm, still laughing. "But it's a tradition, sweetheart. You told me yourself. I dance with his Queen and he dances with mine."

"Shouldn't you be up in arms and defending my honor?"

"I have a feeling that that you can take care of yourself," Alfred giggled, and Arthur had to agree. He shot the King of Diamonds a dirty look, but he was treating several young ladies to smiles and did not notice.

"So?" Alfred smiled eagerly. "How'd I do?"

Arthur smiled back. "Very well, my dear. Very light on your feet. The poor little Queen looked quite besotted with her superb dancing partner." He glanced at the Queen of Diamonds, who now spoke to a man with a fierce expression. "Although that brother of hers was scowling at you the entire time."

Alfred snorted. "You were watching him _and_ me?"

"I was looking everywhere but King Francis's leering face." Arthur scowled. "I swear. I'd fear for his Queen if her brother were not so fierce a Jack."

"And I'd fear for my Arthur if he were not so fierce a Queen," Alfred said, and Arthur blushed, pleased. Alfred stood up and held out his hand, his bight smile as present on his face as ever. "Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, dearest Queen?"

Arthur stood and bowed. "Certainly, Your Majesty," he said, and took Alfred's hand. As they walked to the dance floor together the musicians started up again, playing a slow waltz this time.

"And who shall lead this time?" Arthur asked, looking up into Alfred's face. "You or I?"

Alfred ran his knuckles down the curve of Arthur's cheek. "Why don't we both lead?" he whispered, and Arthur leaned up to kiss him.

The snow fell softly outside, and the Court of Spades was alight with happiness, as the King and Queen danced and danced, in tandem, together.


End file.
